


I'll go to jail (if that takes to have you)

by Narryfavoritejiall



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: And he's sixteen too whoops, Falling In Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Peter Parker is a Mess, Phone Sex, Soft Peter Parker, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Sex, You Have Been Warned, quentin is a good guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-13 18:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narryfavoritejiall/pseuds/Narryfavoritejiall
Summary: Peter tastes like spring. If spring would have a taste.He tastes fresh, warm and sweet.Fresh like lemon water, warm like tea and sweet like maple syrup.And Quentin can't get enough.Or. Just a bittersweet teacher/student au nobody ask for.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 144





	I'll go to jail (if that takes to have you)

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags, if it triggers you, please leave.

Peter is consuming him. 

He is eating him, taking him apart and putting him back together. 

He is driving him crazy and making him hesitate. Peter is making him drunk in love.

And, Quentin can't get enough. 

It just takes five letters for Quentin's heart to accelerate. 

_Peter._

-

Quentin's cheeks hurt from grinning so much. His eyes are half-closed. He's tired, but he can't stop looking. The sight is making him chuckle like a silly man and he feels warm. 

Because Peter's been jumping on the bed for two minutes, Quentin's body bounces too and he should have regretted giving Peter coffee, but he doesn't.

Because, this right here –Peter in his underwear, his uniform shirt half undone with his tie loosened around his neck while he keeps trying to not step on Quentin's hand that keeps trying to reach for Peter's ankle and Peter keeps giggling, getting away– is happiness to Quentin. 

This silly kid dancing to Pop music onto his bed feels like a breath of fresh air and Quentin suddenly feels young again. 

"C'mere," He extended a hand up towards Peter. 

The boy shook his head while a wide grin stretched his lips, he slapped the hand away and stepped away when Quentin tried to grab his ankle once again. 

"Settle down, shit." 

"No-uh."

"I'll catch ya." 

"I bet you can't catch me, old man–" 

Suddenly, Quentin pulling him down by his wrist made Peter laugh loudly when he fell on his side, next to Quentin. He tried to playfully get away but he was quickly trapped under Quentin's body. Peter yelled high-pitched and he continued laughing when Quentin hushed him and covered his mouth. 

"Get off of me!" 

"Shut up," Quentin smiled lazily. 

Peter gasped, "You shut up." 

Quentin stared at him and at his slowing calming form. He drank him up, the feckless on his nose and the crooked eyebrow, the thin lips and sharp jaw. Quentin's smile prevailed. Peter fell quiet, staring back and Quentin leaned down to rub his nose against the side of his unblemished neck, he breathed in deeply. 

Peter smells boyish. Quentin bit his skin. He couldn't help it. 

_"Hey, "_ Peter giggled, his own arms rest above his head, on the pillow. 

"What?" The man sighed, looking at the chocolate eyes again. They look soft and puffy. Peter looks tired. 

He shrugged and lifted his head to lick Quentin's nose fatly, "Nothing," He mumbled. 

Oh, Quentin loves that smile. Peter's smile when he is sincerely happy, or when he just woke up, or when he just finished orgasming. The smile looks blissful, foolish and loving. 

Peter only smiled like that for Beck. 

Beck kissed him, wet and messy. Peter shut his eyes and sighed, his hands still rest above his head. And the sight shouldn't be so hot, but it is. Quentin ran a cold palm under the uniform shirt, where Peter toned belly is, he run his thumb there because he knows Peter likes that. 

Peter kissed him firmly when Quentin tried to pull away. Peter turned on his side and threw a leg over Quentin, trapping him now. Quentin held onto the leg, squeezing and feeling the flesh because their tongues were touching and Peter is getting better and better. 

Though, Quentin likes the inexperience Peter has. 

He likes Peter innocent, pristine, soft and candid, moaning like a shy virgin every time he is being fucked. Acting overwhelmed and needy because he's never had someone like Quentin touching him like that. 

He still likes to think he was Peter's first, though he wasn't. 

But, he knows he's the best so far because he is. 

"I don't wanna go yet," Peter sniff, "I don't wanna go. Ever." 

"Then stay," Quentin whispered. 

He hopes Peter stays. Forever. 

-

"Do you still want me?" Peter cried, "You could have anyone. And, you want me?"

"I could. But, I want you." 

"I'm sixteen."

"I know." _That's what I like. That's what I love. _

"You'll get bored of me quickly," Peter hit Quentin's chest angrily, with a closed fist. It didn't hurt too much. 

"I won't," He promised. 

"What about your wife, Beck?" 

"I want you." 

"Why me, Beck?" 

"I want you," He repeated and Peter cried harder, he tried to hold him but he was pushed away. 

"I'm not who you think I am. I have _issues. _I-I get sick sometimes. My head gets sick sometimes. I'm not always okay." 

"Don't we all?" 

"Do you really want me?" 

"I do. I don't care. I just do." 

Quentin stopped caring since a long time ago. 

.... Though, he didn't care in the first place. 

Not when he saw Peter there, in the back of the classroom, biting on his pen and taking notes hastily, looking at Quentin up and down and blushing with a cheeky smile on his face when he was caught. Or how he seemed to always be in a rush. He didn't care when Peter touched his arm suggestively and gave pretty stares when he brought him coffee and had lunch with Quentin because they didn't have friends, they only had each other. 

Quentin never cared about wrongness and crime. Not when Peter confessed his love to him with messy writing on a neon green sticky note. 

He never cared. 

Not if it meant having Peter. 

-

Peter tastes like spring. If spring would have a taste. 

He tastes fresh, warm and sweet. 

Fresh like lemon water, warm like tea and sweet like maple syrup. 

He tastes like delightfulness and everything wrong you shouldn't want or have. Like a ron or drugs. And, yet, Quentin wants and has. 

Peter is his drug and Quentin is an addict. And ugly addict with separation issues; he goes in abstinence whenever he is away from Peter.

He craves Peter, almost in an unhealthy way. 

Hey, but Peter is keeping him sane. 

-

They started hooking up ever since that road trip the school made to Europe. Quentin was still the newest teacher and he volunteered to go and look out for the kids, just to create a good impression on his superiors. 

Which, is funny, because all the good heart things he did on that trip, quickly went to hell when Peter knocked in his door at three in the morning and Quentin was the one who couldn't let him go. 

He succumbed, like a weak man. Oh, God, he gave up. 

Peter looked up at him with those big, brown eyes. He looked like he had been crying. He was wearing his pajamas and his backpack was hanging on his shoulders. He had looked down momentarily, just when Quentin was about to ask what he was doing, but unexpectedly and fortunately, Peter moved fastly, he got on his tiptoes and placed a soft, innocent kiss on Quentin's cheek. Right where he shaves. 

He remembers being left dumbfounded, with his hand gripping his the doorknob. Any sleep left disappeared. Quentin was very much awake and Peter looked like he was going to cry at any minute. 

"I like you," He mumbled wetly. Struggling. 

Again, Quentin suddenly forgot his morals because he just stepped back and opened the door for Peter to come in. A silent gesture it was.

He remembers going to the minifridge to pour himself a drink because he really _needed_ one as if the alcohol would stop him from needing Peter so much. His back was turned to the boy, he tried to make small talk but for some reason, they weren't speaking. They couldn't speak. 

Like if they would have spoken, this whole spell and moment would break and disappear. 

Honestly, at that time, it seemed better to not speak. 

What could they possibly speak about when Quentin _had _to turn around because he heard the sound of a zipper dragging down and Peter was undressing?

Quentin remembers staying put and just watching, he stared with fervent admiration and hunger, he dropped the can of soda in the couch as Peter looked at him in the eye the whole time and –That was the first time Quentin ever saw him appear confident and sure of himself. 

Peter's shoulders weren't hunched and he wasn't playing anxiously with his own fingers like he always does. Instead, he was shrugging off his jacket, taking off his shirt and dragging down his pants. He never stopped staring at Quentin even when he stumbled slightly when his pants laid around his ankles. 

God, was Quentin out of breath. 

Peter crossed his arms when Quentin didn't move, he then turned around and got onto the bed only in his underwear, he crawled to the top and sat down on the fluffy pillows that Quentin was sleeping on moments ago. Peter did that as to silently state that he wasn't planning on moving or leaving. 

Quentin had sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. 

He should have ordered firmly for Peter to dress, to stop it. He wanted to tell him to behave and stop being immature. He should have scolded him and tell him to leave and forget this ever happened, but he didn't. 

No, no. He didn't. He _couldn't. _

Not when Peter said quietly, "I thought you liked me." 

Oh, Quentin does. 

He fucked Peter slow and careful that night, obliviously thinking that was his first time. He kissed and touched Peter like he thought no one ever has. He made him sigh and gasp timidly. 

They kissed with a little awkwardness because Peter was too eager and off-sync, they were messy and sweet, they gripped each other a little too hard at the time, but Quentin loved every single thing he was doing with Peter.

Peter kept looking up at him with fluttering eyelids, his face would contort in bliss and hazy pleasure as his legs laid on each side of Quentin's hips, his hand were awkwardly holding the sheets until Quentin grabbed them and wrapped them around his neck. He kept kissing Peter and telling him how pretty he was. 

They were quiet for the most part, Quentin has never being a loud person and Petet was too embarrassed to moan out loud. His breathy, almost silent sighs would bring Quentin close to the edge and he had to stop constantly to not come like a dumb and inexperienced teenager. 

He really wanted to satisfy Peter. 

Peter orgasmed first because Quentin found out how much he liked to get his earlobe sucked on and be fucked at the same time. It was an arousing sight that Quentin watched thoughtfully, how Peter's left thigh and belly shook when he came and how his eyebrows scrunched up as his mouth became slack and he allowed Quentin to kiss his cheek twice.

Quentin wanted to take a picture, but he couldn't. That's why he watched carefully because right there, right then, all of his dirty and sweet dreams became a reality. 

_ Peter. _

The air was warm and the TV was echoing with the music Peter asked him to play for them to be more relaxed when they were just kissing. Quentin kept thrusting, he accelerated his pace once Peter came, but he had to stop promptly because Peter was hissing and holding Quentin's hip tightly. 

"Does it hurt?" Quentin whispered, stopping completely when Peter looked at him with wide eyes.

"Y-yeah, sorry. I can help–"

He cut him off with a soft peck on his lips, "Don't apologize." 

"Sorry," Peter giggled and covered his mouth when Quentin raised his eyebrows. 

Quentin honestly wasn't thinking about himself and his own release, he found out that being with Peter stopped him from being selfish, being with Peter made him a better person. He was just planning on laying down and waiting for his hard-on to die, but Peter –_God_, Peter.

He reached down in-between his opened legs and started to stroke Quentin with experienced tugs. Quentin would have died but he preferred to kiss Peter until he came on his legs.

Watching Peter covered in his own cum and Quentin's made something awaken inside him. It told him this couldn't be the last time, that Peter should be his and only his.

He never thought like that about his wife. 

Peter was special. He _is _especial.

Later when they were laying on the bed next to each other, Peter had turned on his stomach to rest his arm on Quentin's naked chest and start playing with the growing beard on his cheek. Peter smiled sweetly at him and leaned in to still Quentin a kiss. He did that a few times and Quentin chuckled slightly.

Peter sighed, "I liked it."

"The sex?" The man mumbled.

Peter hummed, still grinning shyly. 

"I'm glad." 

"It's been the best," The boy simply said. 

And Quentin's heart dropped a little, he raised an eyebrow, "You've done it before?"

He hummed once again and laid next to him, looking up at the ceiling, "This wasn't my first time, Beck."

_Oh._

He said that out loud on accident.

"You thought I was a virgin?"

"Maybe." 

Peter snorted, "Everyone thinks that." 

"Well, you should put a sign in your forehead saying you aren't," Quentin smirked. 

"Shut up," He laughed and pushed at Beck's arm. 

After a moment of silence, Quentin spoke carefully, "So who was your first?"

He felt bad for asking but he needed to know. He needed to know who took the privilege of fucking Peter first and making that special time _special._

Peter sighed and he hid his face on the man's shoulder, "Brad," He said sleepily.

Quentin frowned, "Brad from my class?"

Peter hummed. 

And, Quentin was a little disappointed. But he knew he had been the best for Peter so far.

-

He failed Brad in his class. 

Because he is a stupid, lazy kid and because he slept with Peter first.

-

Peter sometimes calls him when he is bored or sad. He calls him when he is horny or happy. He is always calling Quentin and tell him everything he is doing. He rambles a lot and then apologizes after. Quentin always tells him to not apologize. 

He loves listening to Peter. 

Whenever Peter's name flashes on the screen of his phone he always hides in a place where his wife won't bother him just because he needs to listen to Peter's voice telling him what stupid TV shows he is watching or how much he wants him. 

Quentin once dirty talk with Peter while hiding in the laundry room. It was ridiculous and risky but he couldn't help it. Not when Peter was calling him all needy and moody because they haven't had sex in four days. 

He listened to Peter's breathy moans and pleads. He told him what to do and he listened to Peter telling how much he wished to see Quentin because –

"I'm so, so, _so _horny, Beck. Please." 

"I can't leave the house right now, baby. It's one in the morning." 

"I'll suck you off," Peter said and Quentin could imagine the shit-eating grin on his lips. 

"Tempting." 

"_Please_." 

"Keep touching yourself, baby," He said softly, bringing a hand down to squeeze himself as he looked at the naked selfie Peter sent him two minutes ago. 

"_Mhm_." 

"Come on, finger yourself too," He said breathily, "Pretend it's me." 

"I love you," Peter whimpered. 

"I love you too, baby." 

So much. 

-

Peter wants to be a photographer, he wants to go to art school and learn how to write for journalism too. He is so talented and intelligent and Quentin could listen to him for hours. 

Peter is so mature for his age and he knows how he is and who he wants to be. 

He told Quentin that he doesn't have friends because he doesn't like people but that he likes Quentin. He told him too how he used to take medication during his early teens because his personality disorder was killing with anxiety him slowly. He told him that people would make fun of him at school and that they would exclude him. 

Quentin knows that still happens because he's seen how badly people treat Peter at school. 

Peter told him that he is better now and happier. Sometimes Quentin doubts that. 

Peter's parents work a lot and he is alone most of the time, he once called Quentin from the bathtub, crying and hyperventilating, saying how guilty he felt and how he wanted to leave. 

Quentin talked him through his panic attacks, desperately calm. He wished that he could just drive to Peter's house and hold him in his arms. But, he couldn't because their relationship is wrong and not normal. 

That breaks Quentin every time. 

But Peter is optimistic and he always tells Quentin how he will live with Quentin as soon as he enters college. How they would adopt a dog and cat from the local shelter. How they would make love in the morning and make breakfast after. How they'll go out to the movies and come back to make love again. He always tells him that he will be making his homework while Quentin grades exams and that they would take baths together and massage each other's back before going to bed. How they will live happily ever after and have kids too. 

Quentin painfully knows that won't happen. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a hoe for comments, please do:')


End file.
